March 20, 2011

When I was younger and less of a boring old person, the first post on a new blog was always the most fun part, and then as my enthusiasm flagged so did the frequency of my posts. (Except on livejournal when I used to be on livejournal, which I calculated had replace television, at least in terms of time spent staring at something while drinking.) But now I’m like, Jesus. I want to have a book blog. I read books. People seemed to like it when I posted things to Goodreads, back before I had three hundred people following my reviews there and I completely choked and stopped posting there.

Anyway whatever. As of today I’m actively in the middle of Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville, and The Reapers Are the Angels, by some dude somewhere; there are also always lots of books around that I’m partway through but about which I’ve forgotten. I’m doing a book club about the China Mieville book at the store where I work, but nobody is buying it so the night the book club meets- the Total Bummer Book Club- it’s probably going to be me, by myself, eyes Sharpied onto my hands so I can have puppets to talk to.

“Check me out,” says my left hand, “I’m a Xenian!”

“I’m a human who doesn’t acknowledge my human privilege,” says my right. For two hours. Of drinking alone in the bookstore.


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